The Dragon of Ice
by Nightfeather18
Summary: Lomëion is a creature that few in Middle Earth know of, a Frost Dragon. When he attends the Council in Rivendell he ends up joining the Fellowship, join Lomëion as he makes new friends and enemies alike.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Warnings: mentions of Glorfindel/Erestor

" ** _Dracual_** "

 _"You cannot fly like an eagle with the wings of a wren." – William Henry Hudson_

Olórin gently shut the door behind himself with a sigh as he left the room. It was late into the night, the moon at its highest point.

"Still not awake I take it," I say, Olórin jumps and turns to face me.

"No, not yet. When did you arrive, Lomëion?" he replies.

"Just three minutes ago," I say, shrugging as my clothes wet from the rain outside, leave a puddle on the floor.

"You should rest, these endless patrols are not easy, even for you." Olórin frowns.

"I will, soon," I reassure him, "I just wanted to check on you first."

"And I am quite well, you may go and rest now, in fact I insist," Olórin shoos me, rolling my eyes I pull my wet cloak tighter about my shoulders, startling a nearby elf when the move defined two large bumps on my back.

"Alright, Olórin, I shall go rest now," I sigh, turning to go, but stop when Olórin calls my name.

"Rest well," he says, I nod once and continue on my way. I weave my way through the halls of Rivendell and quickly reach the room that has unofficially been named mine. I slip through the door and swiftly remove my cloak, sighing in relief when the heavy fabric is gone, freeing my wings. With a moan I stretch them out with a few flaps, scattering papers and disturbing the drapes. Stepping further into the dark room I toss my cloak over the back of a convenient chair and fold my wings against my back. Walking to the hearth I quickly set about making a fire, fumbling a couple times with the tinder box before I finally managed it; a growl escapes my throat when the sparks don't catch. Tossing the tinder box onto the table I hiss in frustration, giving up I begin the task of peeling my wet clothes off my skinny frame, I wrestle my tunic and shirt off, being gentle with my wings as I pull them through the slits in the back; I could have hidden my wings within my back but I preferred to leave them out where if I had to I could use them to fly.

Rummaging through the wardrobe for a nightshirt I'm distracted by a knock on my door, momentarily giving up I quickly cross the distance to the door and open it up a crack.

"Yes?" I poke my head through the gap to see Lord Elrond.

"I do believe you gave one of the maids a fright earlier, she seemed to think you were afflicted with something," he says, explaining his presence.

"I'm fine. It was just my wings," I grumble, "I'm sorry you were dragged out of bed for nothing. Although, knowing you, you were still awake and working." My comment is aided by the fact that Elrond's hair is still braided and the guilty shuffle he gives, I nod.

"You are sure you are not injured," Elrond says, peering closely at me, I sigh and open the door fully before twirling in a complete circle.

"Healthy as a horse, healthier even," I say, my annoyance coloring my voice, "go to bed, Elrond. We can finish talking in the morning." The elven lord nods and leaves, when he has disappeared down the hallway I close my door and return to the wardrobe where I quickly snatch a loose pair of trousers that I change into, forgoing a nightshirt. Grabbing the brush that lays on the nightstand by the bed I run it through my long black hair, that done I set the brush back down and veritably throw myself onto the bed, in a matter of seconds I'm fast asleep.

* * *

The next morning dawned clear and bright and it was with much glee and gratitude that I climbed into a warm bath that had been prepared for me. After scrubbing myself clean, paying particular attention to my wings and cleaning the membranes, I reluctantly climbed out of the cooling water and dried off, there was no time to soak much to my disappointment, before dressing in a simple pair of tan leggings and a light blue shirt and tunic. Clean and dressed I pulled a brush through my hair and put on my spare black cloak, the other one was still damp, and set off to find food to break my fast, which I found in the great hall. Whilst there I noticed the absence of Lord Elrond and Olórin, so I quickly finished my meal and set off to find them. I quickly found them in the young Halfling's room, just as he was waking up.

"Where am I," he asks

"You are in the House of Elrond and it is ten o' clock in the morning on October the twenty-fourth, if you want to know," Olórin replies and Elrond steps up beside the bed.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Master Baggins," he says as I step into the room.

"I see our young friend has awoken at last," I say to Olórin with a smile, revealing my fangs. Frodo starts but slowly relaxes when no one else reacts, "it's nice to meet you Mister Baggins. My name is Lomëion."

"At your service and your families'," Frodo replies with a nod, the closest he can get to a bow whilst laying down. I quirk an amused smile, so polite these hobbits, though I don't have any family for him to be of service _too_.

"And I at yours and your family," I say nonetheless before turning to face Olórin, "Mithrandir, might I have a word?" Olórin nods and follows me from the room, from there I lead him to a secluded balcony where we won't be overheard.

"Olórin you know the Ring cannot stay here, the **_Shikinar_** know of its presence here, I nearly crossed paths with five of them," I hiss after making sure we were alone. Olórin leans on his staff, suddenly looking his age. I recoil in shock, even after knowing Olórin since he came to Arda marred he had never looked as defeated as he does now.

"I know, Lomëion. The Counsel is to be held tomorrow and there the fate of the Ring will be decided," Olórin sighs.

* * *

I left Olórin to his own devices after that and made my way down to the training grounds where I proceeded to grab the only elf that could keep up with me and challenge him to a spar.

"What has you in this mood, normally you're of a kinder disposition," Glorfindel asks as he parries the blow I aim at his torso. I growl, my lips curling back on their own accord to reveal my fangs as I duck a swipe aimed at my neck.

"That stupid, secretive, manipulative, meddling, Istari is keeping secrets from me," I rant even as Glorfindel barely avoids being stabbed through the shoulder. I would have continued ranting but I was interrupted by the dinner bell, reluctantly I lower my sword and Glorfindel gratefully sheaths his after inspecting it for any damage, we had been sparring for the last four hours and were both soaked with sweat. After sheathing my sword and thanking Glorfindel for the sparring match we go our separate ways to get cleaned up for dinner. I quickly make my way to my room and change clothes, forgoing the heavy, over-sized cloak in favor of simply pulling my wings into my back where they took the form of wings that seemed to be painted on my skin. I pull on one of the few tunics I had that didn't have slits in the back to accommodate my wings and left my room, closing the door behind me, to go to the great hall where dinner was being served. Once there I quickly took my seat at Lord Elrond's table, ignoring the stares I was receiving from elves, men, and dwarves alike, I cut a strange figure with my long black hair, but my ears were round, most Men didn't have hair so long and most Noldor didn't have such icy blue eyes. Of course, the staring could be because I took a seat right beside Glorfindel and ignored Olórin's greeting, effectively giving him the silent treatment, or it could be the fact that I was late.

Soon I had a plate of food in front of me and from there the evening progressed rather smoothly, despite Olórin receiving the cold shoulder from me.

"Lomëion," Frodo says, effectively capturing my attention from my meal, Glorfindel takes this chance to steal some food from my plate despite the glare he receives from Erestor for doing so.

"Yes, Frodo," I reply, rising an eyebrow at the antics of the married couple.

"I was just wondering how long you've known Gandalf for," he says, my head snaps in his direction, eyes wide in shock and surprise.

"Why do you ask," I ask warily, frowning

"Well you don't look that old, but Gandalf says that you are older than him by several centuries," Frodo replies.

"Oh, he does, does he? Well I hate to be the one to do it, but I must reveal the lie in that statement. If you go by when the Istari arrived in Arda, then yes, I am older than Mithrandir by more than just several centuries, but if we go by when we were created than Mithrandir is actually much older than I," I say, rising an eyebrow at Olórin who just rises one in return and grumbles to himself.

"Than you are an elf," Frodo asks me and everyone at the high table who heard and knows chokes or laughs.

"Nay, Frodo, I am no elf, but what race I belong to will have to wait for a time when there are fewer ears to listen in," I say with a chuckle, jabbing Glorfindel in the ribs when he doesn't bother to hide his laughter and giving Frodo a reassuring smile. After that dinner passes quietly and soon everyone retreats to the Hall of Fire, everyone but me that is, I retreated to my room for the night. Even as I readied myself for sleep I could hear the singing and merrymaking from the Hall of Fire and as I settled into bed the songs lulled me into the realm of dreams.

 _ **Shikinar**_ **-** Ringwraiths


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Council of Elrond

I wake up the next morning to the sun shinning in through the open curtains right into my eyes, I sit up with a groan before flopping back down and dragging myself to the edge of the bed where I promptly fall onto the floor with a huff.

"My lord? Are you well," a feminine voice asks through the door.

"I am just fine," I reply, a touch sarcastically.

"I was sent to tell you that the Council with begin shortly," the voice says, at that I bolt up off the floor.

"I shall be there soon," I assure, quickly walking over to the wardrobe where I grab a pale grey shirt, darker tunic, and black leggings. I close the curtains and pull the leggings on before releasing my wings and carefully threading the strong appendages through the slits in the shirt and tunic. Dressed, I practically rip a brush through my hair, wincing when a few tangles are forcibly removed, setting the brush down I grab my over-sized black cloak and drape it over my shoulders, hiding my wings from sight. Sitting down on the messed-up bed I pull my boots on and then rush to the door, yanking it open and startling a passing servant as I rush out, barely managing to close the door behind me before I take off down the hallway.

* * *

"Lomëion, you're late," Elrond says as I arrive in the circle of stone chairs.

"No, I'm not, you haven't even started yet," I retort, ignoring the incredulous stares from those gathered.

"Just take your seat," Elrond sighs, looking defeated, much to the astonishment of the Men. With an unrepentant grin and a mocking bow I take a seat beside Olórin.

Everyone falls silent as Elrond begins,

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor," he says, his Sindarin accent evident in the way he rolls his 'r's, "Frodo, bring forth the Ring." Frodo hesitantly stands and approaches the stone plinth where he sets the non-descript band of gold that holds a part of Sauron's soul. Muttering breaks out as Frodo returns to his seat.

"The Doom of Man," an elf from the Grey Havens mutters.

"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring," the Gondor representative begins, standing, "long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay, by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy, let us use it against him."

"You cannot wield it, none of us can! The Ring belongs to Sauron alone, it has no other master," Aragorn argues.

"And what would a Ranger know of this matter," the Gondorian scoffs, looking at Aragorn in distain.

"This is no mere Ranger, he is Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor," an elf from Mirkwood says, standing up.

"This is Isildur's heir," the Gondorian asks incredulously.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf says proudly.

" _Havo dad, Legolas_ ," Aragorn says, raising his hand to his face. The now named Legolas slowly takes his seat.

"Gondor has no king, Gondor needs no king," the man says. A low hiss sounds in the back of my throat as I glare at the impudent welp before me, a quiet yelp escapes my lips when Olórin quickly raps my shin with his staff, looking grateful that he seemed to be the only one who heard me.

"Aragorn is right. We cannot use it," Olórin declares, leaning forward on his staff.

"You have only one choice, the Ring must be destroyed," Elrond says, looking around the circle.

"Well, what are we waiting for," a red-haired dwarf says, standing and grabbing his axe, swinging down at the Ring with all of his young strength only for me to volt from my seat and grab the axe shaft, stopping it mid swing.

"That would not be wise. If it were that easy do you really think that the Ring would still be in existence," I ask the dwarf, raising an eyebrow and ignoring the shocked looks my display of strength was earning me, stepping back by my seat as Gimli took his.

"Lomëion is right. The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond begins, "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this." By this point in time the Ring was giving off its insidious little whispers, weaving its black magic around the Council in the hopes of inciting violence. Unfortunately, it was working.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly," The Gondorian protests.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed," Legolas exclaims, leaping to his feet again.

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it," Gimli asks, leaping to his feet as well. The Gondorian stood then too.

"And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his," he asks.

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf," Gimli snarls, glowering at Legolas, "Never trust an elf!" The other elves stood then, and Legolas extends his arms to hold them back.

"Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it," Olórin says, joining the fight. I stood watching as the whirlwind around the Ring grew, glaring at the Ring as its whispers grew louder the more the others argued.

"I will take it," Frodo's voice pipes up and I turn to look at him in surprise, "I will take it" he continued and slowly the fighting quietens as Frodo's words are registered.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor, though I do not know the way," Frodo finishes, looking around nervously. Olórin opens his eyes, having closed them when the young Hobbit's words reached him.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear," he says solemnly as he walks to Frodo and places a withered hand on his shoulder.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," Aragorn says, coming forward and kneeling before the Hobbit, "You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," Legolas declares, stepping forward as well.

"And my axe," Gimli says, not to be outdone, though he and Legolas exchanged glares. The Gondorian lord walks forward slowly,

"You carry the fates of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done," he says before taking a spot in the row forming behind Frodo. Just then a shout rang out and the Hobbit called Sam ran out from behind a bush,

"Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me," he exclaims.

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond says, mildly amused. Merry and Pippin then ran from behind a couple of pillars,

"Wait! We're coming too," Merry yelps, standing beside Frodo, "You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us." Well that could arranged.

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest, thing," Pippin says, taking a spot beside his cousin.

"Well that rules you out, Pip," Merry says.

"Nine companions," Elrond starts.

"Begging your pardon Lord Elrond, but there is one other I would have join us," Olórin says before Elrond can finish, looking pointedly at me, the others following his gaze.

"Mithrandir do recall where this venture is destined, a volcano in case you forgot, it would also do you well to remember what I am," I hiss, narrowing my eyes at the cheeky Maia.

"I do recall, Lomëion, but you would be a great asset on this quest," Olórin says, I pause, there is something Olórin is neglecting to mention, looking into his eyes I see an odd desperation.

"Very well, Mithrandir, but it is upon your shoulders to help me combat the heat of Mordor," I sigh, stepping forward to join the group as Olórin nods.

"Ten companions, very well, you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring," Elrond says, nodding.

"Great, where are we going," Pippin asks.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Warning: Mentions of Glorfindel/Erestor

A/N: Sorry it's so short, I got stuck on the last little bit of this chapter and I figured better late than never. So please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I have forgotten to do this the last couple times but I remembered this time. I do not own Lord of the Rings. All rights belong to their respective owners

Multiple pairs of eyes rivet their focus on the young Hobbit. Shaking my head, I leave before anyone can say a word, arriving at my room; I enter and close the door behind me before flopping down face first upon the bed. I don't know how long I lay there for, but I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I open my eyes to a knock on the door evening has descended upon the Hidden Vale. Standing up I walk over to the door and open it with a grunt to reveal Olórin in all his old man glory.

"Ah, here you are Lomëion, I was wondering where you disappeared to," he says, I tilt my head in a distinctly reptilian, or rather draconic, manner.

"I have been here since I left the Council," I say dryly, leaning against the door frame.

"Of course," Olórin hums, awkward silence descends upon us and I shuffle my wings, drawing Olórin's attention to them, "It may be best to hide those on this quest."

"I know, but for the moment I would like to enjoy having them free," I say, extending my left wing in a dual purposed stretch, the first reason was that the stretch made it easier to inspect the bat-like wing for any imperfections that might hinder flight. The other reason was hiding behind a pillar with a good view into my room, Pippin's eyes widen dramatically, and I have to stifle the urge to grin as a gasp escapes him and Olórin whips around in time to see the young Hobbit take off down the hallway.

"You did that on purpose," Olórin growls, turning to face me again, this time I don't bother to hide my grin.

"You should have seen his face," I chuckle before sobering, "Olórin, they have to find out sooner or later what they travel with and I would rather tell them here in the relative safety of Elrond's realm, then on the road where the risk of the enemy overhearing is far greater." Olórin can either find no fault in my logic or has decided not to argue with me for the sake of being on time for dinner, either way, he simply nods and tells me that he will see me at dinner before leaving. As Olórin disappears down the hallway I retreat the rest of the way into my room, stretching out my other wing with a moan, there had been little opportunity to exercise my wings and they were starting to feel cramped.

Tempted though I was to skip, my growling belly made up my mind for me, so with a sigh I tuck my wings once more and readjust my cloak securely over them, it wouldn't do for one of the Men or Dwarves to catch sight of them and kick up a fuss. I close my door behind just as the dinner bell rings. The walk to the dining hall only takes a few minutes but when I arrive the hall is nearly full and when I take my seat with the rest of the Fellowship at Elrond's table people are still trickling in. As I sit down I notice Pippin staring at me with wide eyes and Merry eyeing us both skeptically, with a smirk I place a finger over my lips in a shushing gesture and wink at the two Hobbits, Merry rolls his eyes as Pippin turns to him with 'I told you so' written on his face. My lips twitch into a smile and I can see Pippin is about to ask me a question, however, Boromir beats him to it.

"Why are you still wearing a cloak," he asks, trying to pick a fight.

"Because I am cold," I lie, though it's true that to the others I would feel cold. Still the lie served its purpose and Boromir drops the subject, Pippin looks like he's about to try again but at that moment dinner is served and his attention is diverted. The meal is relatively quiet, besides Olórin and Elrond having a hushed discussion about what path we should take and the Hobbit's chatter. It's peaceful, and of course someone has to disturb the peace. Silence descends on the hall when my head jerks to the side with the force of a relatively light impact, I blink slowly and cock my head to the side, gritting my teeth. I turn in my seat just in time to see Erestor hit Glorfindel upside the head, Glorfindel just grins unrepentantly at me, I narrow my eyes at him and ever so slowly his grin falters and then falls as he starts to look at me with apprehension. As Glorfindel's grin falls from his face, a distinctly predatory one crawls onto mine; still, it wouldn't do to take my revenge here, so I turn to Elrond.

"If you would be so kind as to excuse me, Lord Elrond. I appear to have become rather messy," I say, and Elrond nods his head graciously, dismissing me from the table. Standing, I leave the hall with as much dignity as I can muster with mashed potatoes plastered to the side of my head, but just before I leave the hall I hear Olórin, Erestor, and Elrond all start to lecture Glorfindel while the Men and Dwarves watched incredulously. In fact, I am inclined to believe that only those from Rivendell were unsurprised, as well as unimpressed. Dinner would be over soon and I could ask one of the servants to draw me a bath but in the mean time I had something else to do.

* * *

A decidedly undignified shriek rang through Imladris quickly followed by shouting,

"Lomëion!" I huddle farther underneath my blanket, snickering; sounds like Glorfindel found my little present. I pull my pillow over my head as my door slams open to admit Glorfindel.

"Lomëion, I demand for you to remove that horror from my bed immediately," Glorfindel growls, ripping my pillow from my grasp. The resulting growl from me has Glorfindel taking a few steps back, instinct and centuries of experience warning him about the dangerous predator before him. I glare at Glorfindel before pulling my blanket over my head,

"Can't Erestor do it? It's his bed too," I grumble.

"Erestor is finishing some paperwork and knowing him, he's going to pull an all-nighter," Glorfindel says, "Now come get rid of it."

"No. You're a big, strong warrior; get rid of 'it' yourself," I say, poking my head out from under my blanket to glower at the impertinent ellon before me only to see him blanch at the idea, "Do not tell me you are afraid of snakes." Glorfindel shuffled uncomfortably.

"I cannot believe it," I exclaim, sitting up, "the great Lord Glorfindel, who faced my kind and who slayed a balrog, is frightened by a little garden snake. What has this world come to?" Glorfindel was about to retort when he was cut off by a shout,

"GLORFINDEL, WHY IS THERE A SNAKE IN OUR BED!" Glorfindel beat a hasty retreat and I decided that the safest place for me was acting innocent right where I was.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Warnings: Mentions of Glorfindel/Erestor

A/N: Hey guys, look I know this has taken me an exceptionally long time to get done but I do have a reason, multiple actually. The first being that I got sick for a stupidly long time just a short while after I posted the last chapter and didn't get better until a week before Christmas. Then the holidays happened and I lost even more time. And then February happened, we do not speak of February. Then of course when I finally had the time and motivation to finish this chapter, Word decided that it hated me and I lost everything I had previously written and had to start all over. However that's all in the past and it's here now so enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer: I only own Lomëion.

When I woke the next morning it was still dark but I knew I would need to move quickly if I was to have any hope of avoiding Erestor, so I get up, quickly dress in leggings and a tunic, rip a brush through my hair, pull in my wings -forsaking my cloak- and am out the door before the sun even starts to come up. In the time I have before the morning meal I walk around Rivendell, avoiding both my usual spots and the places Erestor frequents. But when I am told that the members of the Fellowship are to sit together at the morning meal I know there was no getting around it.

"Good morning, Lomëion," Olórin says as I take my seat.

"Is it, Mithrandir," I ask, furtively looking around and wincing when I spot Erestor just a few tables down from me.

"Are you alright Mr. Lomëion," Sam asks innocently.

"Yes, are you well, Lomëion, you look paler than usual," Aragorn comments.

"I assure you I am quite well, I have merely attained Lord Erestor's ire," I say, shivering under the look Erestor gives me, it is no easy thing to cow a dragon but I dare say that Erestor could have even the likes of Morgoth trembling in fear for his life.

All too quickly the morning meal comes to an end and Erestor rises from his seat.

"Might I have a word with you, Lomëion," he asks coolly, leaving no doubt in my mind, Erestor is furious. I gulp as subtly as possible before rising from my chair,

"Of course, Lord Erestor," I say.

"Begging gets you nowhere," Aragorn mutters under his breath as we are leaving, I stiffen but don't turn around. It quickly becomes all too clear that Erestor is leading me to his domain, the library.

* * *

Two hours later I shot out of the library like all of Angband was behind me, startling a passing maid. I swiftly made my way to the gardens where I found the rest of the Fellowship sitting in the shade of the trees, Legolas was actually _in_ a tree, leaning back against the truck, and Gimli was of course as far away from him as possible without shunning the company of the others. The hobbits jumped at my arrival and the others merely looked up at me as I skidded to a halt.

"I see that Lord Erestor let you live," Olórin says, blue eyes shining with mirth.

"Come now, Mithrandir, you know that the only part of me that was endangered was my pride," I grumble.

"And did your pride make it out undamaged," Aragorn asks, looking up at me.

"I am not quite sure yet," I mutter.

"Whatever did you do to attain Lord Erestor's wrath anyway," Legolas asks from his tree.

"Nothing you need worry about," I reply, looking up at him.

"But now we want to know, you can't just leave it at that," Pippin exclaims, "What did you do?"

I look down at him, raising an eyebrow at the looks the hobbits are giving me, unimpressed by their wide-eyed and curious faces. Olórin laughs and tells the hobbits to give up,

"I know that face, that is all that you shall get from him," he says, this of course only seems to make the hobbits more determined. Before they can attempt to wiggle the story out of me Olórin changes the subject to the path that we will be taking to Mordor, but the looks on the hobbits faces tells me that they will not be forgetting and will simply make another attempt at a later date. I just sit down to listen.

About an hour later Olórin is interrupted from his planning by Pippin,

"What are your homes like," he asks, all conversation halts and we all turn to look at the little hobbit who squirms a bit under the sudden attention. And so for the next hour and a half we are regaled with tales of homes near and far, very far in some instances. I enjoy the stories the others tell of their homes, recalling my own experiences as they tell of their homelands. It is nearing dinner time when the hobbits turn to look at me,

"What is your home like, Lomëion?" It isn't the hobbits who ask but the young elvish prince, I look up at the prince where he rests in the branches above our heads. Suddenly everyone's attention is on me, I look at Olórin and shrug; they had to find out eventually.

"Try to keep in mind that I am nothing like those of my kin you have had the misfortune of meeting," I say, looking around at them all as they all nod, "My home is very cold for it is in the far northern reaches of Arda that my home resides. The elves call it the Helcaraxë," Legolas gasps, "but amongst Men it is called the Grinding Ice. It is believed that when Beleriand sunk that the Helcaraxë went with it but that is not so, it was merely isolated and is now an island of Ice."

"But if it's an island of ice how did you get here and what did you eat," Pippin asks.

"Patience young hobbit, I was getting there. Now let's see, what we eat there. Well in the waters around us there are many kinds of water plants that can survive and grow despite the cold and small creatures in the water eat those and are in turn eaten by fish that do not freeze. We eat the fish and the great whales that live in those waters as well as the animals that live on the Ice, large birds that cannot fly and white bears bigger than a horse. Eggs are a welcome addition when the sun doesn't set and the sea birds come to have their young. Food is always scarce so my kind is few in number and we rarely breed.

"As for how I got here, why I flew of course." I look at the others, they have various expressions painted on their faces ranging from incredulous to confused to frightened.

"How do you kill a bear that large," Boromir asks.

"Simple, you climb to a great height above the bear's back and drop. For me the force of the fall and my own weight was always enough to kill the bear instantly," I shrug. The others, save for Olórin and Aragorn, eye my slender frame dubiously.

"But you are of the race of Men, the fall would kill you," Boromir objects, I give him a confused stare.

"Whatever gave you that idea, I am no more of Men than you are a hobbit," I huff, "No Man could survive the Ice Plains of my home for long and if the cold did not kill them the bears would or they would starve. There are no trees for fires or greens for livestock to eat, the seas are as cold as death during summer when the sun does not set for four months. No, no man could survive there for long; I dare say that not even the elves could survive there."

"Then how do you survive there," Legolas asks after a pregnant silence. I give him a long, considering look.

"Because my kind are as cold as the waters that surround our home, we have no need of warming fires and the bears do not dare approach us save for when we are young and small and even then a parent is not far away if needed," I say.

"If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Lomëion, what are you," Sam asks quietly and I give a rather toothy smile,

"Why young master hobbit, I am a dragon."

A/N: I'm sorry to leave it there but I've spent the better half of the day finishing and polishing this chapter and figured that since I got my word count up I should just post it already. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be writing crappy fan fics, I'd also be dead.

A/N: I never intended for Lomëion to tell the others so early but, what can I say the guy hates keeping secrets and I'd like to see you argue with a dragon, unfortunately it rather threw me through a loop and I had to do a bit of editing to my plans. Anyway in this chapter we're going to be getting to know Lomëion a bit better, even though there's a bit of a plot hole in regards to chapter one that I just couldn't be bothered to fix, so, on with the chapter.

 _Italics_ – Thoughts

" _ **Bold Italics**_ "– Dracual, for which I am using Dovahzul.

October 26th, 3018 T.A.

For a moment chaos rules, then Olórin stands, drawing all attention to him,

"I hope you are quite pleased with yourself," he snaps at me, I grin.

"Oh, I quite assure you, I am," I say and with that I hop up and walk off, leaving Olórin behind to deal with the others.

"Blasted dragon," I heard Olórin mutter, my grin widens and I add an extra little bounce to my steps.

Dinner that night is quiet among the fellowship and we all part ways early, though I noticed the hobbits staring at me with a look not to dissimilar to awe and it made me wonder just what Olórin told them. Sleep is hard to find that night.

October 27th, 3018 T.A.

Frantic knocking wakes me up and I stumble to the door and yank it open,

"What," I growl, scaring the poor maid on the other side.

"You – you are needed in the courtyard, my lord," she stammers, "It is an emergency." I quickly grab my cloak and pull it on over my nightclothes and forgoing shoes I dart out the door, hair a complete mess.

I reach the courtyard in record time to see a large white dragon hissing at a group of people with weapons drawn while Elrond tries to calm everyone down.

"Malah," I shout and suddenly everyone's attention is on me as I push my way through the crowd to reach the young dragoness, "what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," she says, her voice like cracking ice and snow being crushed under foot. I sigh and look around at the crowd, seeing that the fellowship has arrived.

"Lord Elrond, I don't suppose we could take this to a more privet location?"

Elrond nods and moments later we are in one of his privet gardens, the fellowship tagging along at Olórin's insistence.

"Malah, if you would please," I say and with a swirl of icy magic the dragoness is replaced with a young girl who looks to be only thirteen, much to the surprise of the fellowship. Malah shuffles her feet, picking at her silvery-white dress – a perfect match to her long hair.

"Now, why are you here Malah, I told you to stay with your mother," I say, ice blue eyes, a perfect match to my own, flick to the ground.

" _ **Monah los dilon**_ ," is the quiet reply. I freeze and the others look on in confusion but I ignore them; this presents a whole other problem.

"Who are you, then," Pippin asks, drawing all eyes to him and Merry whacks him upside the head, I clear my throat.

"Yes of course, I'm being rude. Gentlemen, this is Malah, my daughter," I say and Malah gives a little wave as the fellowship stare at her, gaping. I simply turn to face Elrond,

"My old friend, I would not ask this of you if I had any other choice. Would you please take care of my daughter until I can return for her, I would forever be in your debt," I say, Malah looks up at me in confusion but doesn't interrupt.

"Of course, Lomëion," Elrond replies, nodding his head gracefully. Shoulders slumping in relief I turn back to my hatchling,

" _ **Come Malah, you must be hungry**_ ," I say, leaving the others behind I walk towards the courtyard. I start in surprise when a smaller hand slips into my own; I glance down to see Malah staring stoically ahead. _And here I thought she had outgrown such gestures of affection toward her father_.

* * *

A tilt of my right wing and I am banking to the left before carefully dropping my prey down into the clearing below and quickly following after it, landing carefully so as not to crush the much smaller dragon already tearing into the elk carcass. I curl up around my daughter, acting as a shield while she eats. _She's grown since I last saw her, where before she was the size of a white bear she now easily dwarfs them; she's now almost as big as a young_ _ **sadon okaaron**_. Malah finishes the elk and curls up against my side, quickly falling into a deep sleep to digest her meal.

" _ **My Malah, my little hunter, how you have grown**_ ," I murmur, curling up tighter and extending a wing to cover Malah from the sun even as I prepared to keep watch until she woke.

The sun has climbed high in the sky when Malah eventually wakes, stretching under my wing with an audible yawn before poking her head out.

" _ **Finally awake then**_ ," I ask, folding my wing properly against my side. Malah nods and for the first time, with a start I notice just how much the young _**meydovah**_ looks like me, granted her scales are her mothers' white and mine are silvery-gray but she has my slender, aerodynamic frame and ice blue eyes; even our wings are the same, bearing the rib(1) that I received from my storm drake dame.

" _ **Father, why must I stay here**_ ," Malah asks, looking up at me.

" _ **Because the One has been found and I must accompany its' bearer to see it destroyed, I would stay if I could but I'm afraid I gave my oath**_ ," I say, looking into the tree-line where I can hear approaching footsteps.

" _ **May we join you, my friend**_ ," Olórin's voice calls.

" _ **Se rahlo, wuth gein**_ ," I say and Olórin steps into the clearing with the rest of the fellowship following him, though all but Aragorn and Olórin pause at the sight of me in my natural form.

"Ah, I see you have grown since I last saw you in this form," Olórin says and the others choke a little.

"Begging your pardon Mr. Lomëion, sir, but I thought you were an adult," Samwise says.

"And I am, but a dragon never truly stops growing, our growth may slow when we reach maturity but it never completely stops," I reply, laying my head on the ground to better see the group, my eye coming level with Legolas' head.

"I might venture a guess to say that you are only slightly smaller than Smaug was when he perished, though I was certain he was younger than you are," Olórin says, leaning on his staff.

"Smaug _was_ younger than me, but he was also a fire drake and they grow faster than we do."

"You are not a fire drake, then," Frodo asks, eyes shining in curiosity.

"No, indeed I am not. I am the product of an experiment conducted by Morgoth; my dam was a storm drake and my sire a frost drake, I quite obviously take more after my sire but I do have a few traits from my dam," I explain, "To be honest we are not quite sure what I am, but we have been saying a frost drake for the past four thousand years."

"Morgoth? Who's that," Malah asks me, head tilted in confusion.

"Morgoth was the first Dark Lord, the brother of Lord Manwë and some say his equal in power. Sauron was his First Lieutenant during the Wars of Beleriand and even before that during the Age of the Trees, though Sauron mostly acted as a spy then. In those days he was called Mairon, meaning The Admired; I cannot quite seem to recall who first called him Sauron, The Abhorred, but it quickly caught on and everyone seemed to forget that he had a name before Sauron Gorthaur," I say, "Morgoth was the one who created the orcs and goblins, people think he created the dragons as well but that is not so, we entered this world by the will of the Valar though we were meant to stay hidden and act as silent guardians. That quite obviously did not happen. Morgoth found a lost young hatchling by the name of Yuvon Luvmahliik and took him, for many years he twisted his mind until nothing good remained and only then did he give the young drake a name, Glaurung. When I hatched and showed to be like my sire in my intolerance for the heat of Morgoth's fortress and distaste for bloodshed he tried to kill me, but with the help of my dam I escaped with little harm. She whipped up a great storm and I escaped to the Helcaraxë with my sire."

Silence hangs heavy in the air and for a long time no one speaks.

Dracual translations

Meydovah – dragonling

Sadon okaaron – gray whale

Malah – Little Hunter

Monah los dilon – mother is dead

Yuvon Luvmahliik – Golden Mourner

Se rahlo, wuth gein – Of course, old man

(1) Rib – The rib is the bone extending from the elbow of the wing, found in mostly storm drakes, or those of storm drake decent, the rib helps the wing keep its shape in high velocity winds and heavy rain, stabilizing flight.

A/N: Alright, here it is. I never intended for Malah to make an appearance so soon or even at all really and originally her name was going to be Aeferedir but here she is. I hope that I portrayed the effect that she has on Lomëion well, I don't have children and so have never experienced anything like it but I tried my best through observation. I'm sorry that this is so late but I promise I have been busy and I worked on it when I could in between bouts of writers block. I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to fav, follow, and leave a review. In the next chapter there's going to be a huge time jump.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR or the Silmarillion

Warnings: There are quite a few Silmarillion references in this chapter.

 _Thoughts_

 _ **Dracual**_

 **Direct quote from the book**.

* * *

Dec 24th, 3018 T.A.

Almost two months have passed since the Council and finally everything is ready for our departure, the bags are packed and our route has a skeletal structure, perfect for sudden plan changes. Malah has been sticking unusually close to my side, unwilling to let me out of her line of sight for longer than she has to.

"Lomëion," a voice calls, breaking from my thoughts I turn to face who call me and see Aragorn; he is standing with the rest of the Fellowship with the exception of Olórin who is in a meeting with Elrond.

"Yes?" I reply, tilting my head to the right in curiosity.

"Would you care to spar with me?" I blink in surprise and my eyes dart to Malah beside me, she looks up and gives me a little nod,

"Very well, Dunadan. But be prepared to lose." I step forward and draw my sword, a simple curving elvish blade with an unusually long fuller on both sides of its length and a leather wrapped hilt free of any embellishments. Legolas calls for us to begin and I leap forward, taking the offense and aggressively driving the Ranger back as he tries desperately to block my lightened blows and thrusts. The match is over in seconds, Aragorn on his back with my sword at his throat and his sword arm trapped under my right foot.

"Now I see why my brothers warned me to never spar with you," he says, I give a toothy grin, fangs peeking out.

"Yes, there is a reason why only Glorfindel will spar with me anymore, I'm afraid that I am too aggressive for their tastes and only Glorfindel ever lasts for more than a minute." I say, stepping back and removing my sword from the fragile skin of the poor man's neck. I look up to see mixed reactions among the faces of the Company, ranging from shocked, impressed, nervous, and awed.

"You may wish to check your blade for any damage; that is another reason why the Elves of Rivendell will no longer spar with Lomëion, he sends their blades to the smithy for repairs." Glorfindel's voice chimes in from behind me in the archway to the House. Aragorn quickly brings his sword up and starts checking it for damage, I roll my eyes.

"I was careful, I lightened my blows and everything," I scoff, Aragorn jerks his head up,

"That was you holding back?" he asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows, I scowl.

"You look like Elrond when you do that," I mutter and Glorfindel nods his golden head in solemn agreement, he had moved to stand beside me. The Hobbits look like they are caught somewhere between laughing and trying not to upset their friend, luckily for them the lunch bell rings at that moment and they never have to make the choice.

Over the past weeks of sitting together for almost every meal the Fellowship quickly came to an informal seating arrangement, the Hobbits sat at the end with the most food and Gimli sat next to them, then me, Aragorn, and Legolas took up the rest of the bench and Olórin sat on the other side of the table where he could easily keep an eye on us all. Now we quickly take our spots at the table, Malah is still at the age where she prefers her food raw and given to her by a parent so I had fed her earlier and now she was presumably curled up in the library with a book, she and Erestor having gotten along surprisingly well.

Soon dishes are placed before us and we start to load up our plates, though I notice that Frodo puts a surprisingly small amount on his own plate. As the meal progresses I start to become increasingly annoyed with my long hair falling over my shoulder and threatening to fall into my food, finally it reaches the point that I yank a thin nondescript hairstick out of my sleeve, swirl my hair into a bun and stab the stick through it irritably, pinning it into place.

"What," I ask of the wide-eyed hall. After that lunch is a quiet affair, though I notice several pairs of lips twitching suspiciously. _The day is passing far too quickly_ , I think, _Soon we will be leaving_.

That evening is spent in the Hall of Fire where we say our farewells, my daughter curled up against my side as I simply enjoy the company without a word until we break apart to go to bed.

* * *

Dec 25th, 3018 T.A.

The next morning starts before Arien has even started her journey across the sky and Tilion is just finishing his. I am just finishing packing the last few items into my bag when Malah quietly enters the room, a package in her hands.

" _ **Bormah, I had this made for you**_ ," she says, holding the package out to me, I gently take it from her loose grip and pull away the wrappings to reveal a beautiful vest made of a material I instantly recognize, scales. Speechless, I pull Malah to me and press my face into the crown of her head.

" _ **Thank you**_ ," I manage to choke out, pulling away. I quickly lift the vest out of the linen wrappings and pull it on, the white scales contrasting starkly against my black tunic. Malah nods her head solemnly before hugging me tightly.

* * *

We meet in the courtyard just as Arien starts to lighten the sky to the East, the last fruit of Yavanna's Tree shining brightly in the morning sky. Malah tucks herself into my side as we wait for Olórin to join us, Sam packing things away on Bill the pony is muttering to himself about rope and just as he finishes his little rant Olórin appears from the depths of the Last Homely House, Lord Elrond at his side, who with but a word calls us all to him.

" **This is my last word** ," he says in a low voice. " **The Ring-Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring, nor deliver it to any servant of the Enemy nor indeed to let any handle it, save members of the Company and the Council, and only then in gravest need. The others go with him as free companions to help him on his way. You may tarry, or turn back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows. The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will. For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.** "

" **Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens** ," Gimli says.

" **Maybe** ," Elrond says, " **but let him not vow to walk on the dark, who has not seen the nightfall**."

" **Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart**."

" **Or break it** ," Elrond counters, " **Look not too far ahead! But go now with good hearts! Farewell, and may the blessings of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!** "

And with that we turn to our path, Elrond's folk watching solemnly from the shadows of the House, my daughter stood beside Elrond, watching us go.

"Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right," Frodo asks as we cross the bridge. Olórin's lips twitch as he replies,

"Left."

* * *

Translations:

Bormah – Father

A/N: Well the Fellowship is finally on their way. I know a lot of you are probably wondering about the vest, to answer just really quickly, yes it is made of dragon scales, Malah's scales to be precise. No, she didn't pull them out, dragons are retiles right? Well retiles shed their skin, the vest was made from a shed skin, the importance and gravity of a gifted shed will be talked about in the next chapter but that's it for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it and feel free to leave a review, favorite, or follow, or not that's up to you.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

Warnings: Mild language.

 _ **Dracual**_

 _Memories_

AN: This chapter ended up being a bit longer than the others, though I am sure that most of you aren't complaining, I just got a little carried away. In this chapter we finally get to start seeing where Lomëion has some weaknesses and shortcomings, it's small but as I said, it's only the beginning. Lomëion has plenty of weaknesses and character faults that just haven't been seen yet. But without further ado, please enjoy and if you wouldn't mind dropping a review, they really do help.

Dec 28th, 3018 T.A.

It is our third on the road when Pippin finally gets the chance to ask me the questions he had been dying to voice since Rivendell.

"What is your vest made of," he asks as we sit around the fire that night, though I keep a healthy distance from the heat of the flames.

"Why, my dear young Hobbit, it is made of dragon scales. My daughter's scales in fact," I say, smirking as the Hobbits grow wide-eyed.

"She pulled out her scales?" Merry blurts out in shock and I recoil with a grimace.

"No! Of course not," I say, shaking my head, "like all reptiles we shed our skins occasionally. The vest is made from a shed."

"Oh," Merry says quietly. It is only when Legolas speaks that we realize the others were listening in.

"But is a shed skin not weaker?" I meet his curious gaze across the fire and pull my dagger, before the others can react I flip the blade and drive it home in my stomach, at least that's what they thought would happen. However, to their surprise there is the sound of screeching metal as the dagger skitters to my right, unable to pierce the natural armor my daughter had gifted me. For a moment the only sound is the fire crackling away merrily.

"I do believe that answers that question," Olórin says around his pipe, voice full of mirth. I smile and sheath my dagger after inspecting it for any damage.

"I think it is time for bed," I say, standing. We quickly set up a watch schedule; I receive the last slot and quickly roll myself into my bedroll as Aragorn readies himself to keep first watch.

Dec 29th, 3018 T.A.

Four hours before sunrise I am shaken awake by Legolas; I squirm out of my blankets and swiftly shake them clean of frost and dirt before rolling them all together and strapping the roll to my pack. To my surprise Legolas stays awake with me instead of going to sleep, but I shrug it off and together we keep watch until it is time to wake the others. They come awake with a great deal of grumbling on the Hobbit's and Gimli's behalves. But breakfast is quickly had and we swiftly pack up our camp, as we are just setting off a cold tingling at the base of my skull alerts me to a potential problem approaching.

"Mithrandir," I call and suddenly I have everyone's attention.

"Lomëion?" Olórin replies, raising an eyebrow.

"There is a storm brewing, a large system that shall come in from the coast in a day's time." The wind picks up just as I finish speaking, blowing from the West. Olórin hesitates for a moment before coming to a decision.

"We cannot afford to delay; we will simply have to bear through it." I purse my lips but nod, knowing that in the coming days that I will be the only one who isn't cold.

My prediction proves to be true and for the next two weeks I am subject to grumpy glares from the others as they huddle together in their cloaks and blankets. I pay them no mind, knowing they are chilled to the bone.

At dawn on the thirteenth day the weather finally shifts and the wind dies down to a gentle breeze as we make our way deeper into what was once Eregion or Hollin to Men. As we walk nearer to where the city once stood Legolas speaks of how the land remembers the elves that used to live here, most of us listen politely or with awe, but Gimli grumbles in irritation and Legolas glares at him which of course sparks an argument. It eventually reaches the point that Olórin tells them both to be quiet.

Jan 8th, 3019 T.A. Midday

As we walk to a large outcropping of rocks Pippin asks another question,

"Are any of you married?" Every head turns in near unison to stare at the Hobbit. But the others give their answers that they remain unwed, and then the attention is turned to me,

"Lomëion, are you married," Merry asks, I give him a sad smile.

"My kind do not marry, young one, we take mates and there is only ever the one. However, I am what you might call a widower," I reply, Pippin frowns, his young years betrayed by his lack of knowledge in this matter, but the others freeze in shock.

"What's a widower?" Pippin asks.

"'Widower' is a term for a man whose wife has died, Pippin," I say gently.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, young one. You have not offended me, be calm." Pippin breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes. I smile and shake my head, shuffling my feet. I turn to Olórin when I heard him chuckle.

"What?" He shakes his head.

"Your daughter does the exact same thing," he says, exhaling a smoke ring, I smile, a warm feeling fluttering in my chest.

* * *

I slowly walk over to sit by Olórin and together we watch the others go about their way as we simply enjoy each other's company in silence. Sam is cooking lunch with Frodo trying to help him, Boromir is teaching Merry and Pippin how to use their blades better while Aragorn watches and smokes his pipe, Legolas is keeping watch, and Gimli is approaching us.

"If anyone were to ask me, which I notice they're not, I would say we're taking the long way around," he says, "Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome."

"No Gimli, I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice," Olórin says solemnly, shaking his head.

Before Gimli can continue his point Legolas dashes across to another vantage point and Boromir accidentally scratches the back of Merry's hand, making him drop his sword with a cry. To be fair he immediately tries to apologize only to be tackled.

Their scuffle fades to the back of my mind as I follow Legolas' gaze to see a dark cloud of something, and apparently Sam sees it to.

"What is that," he asks.

"It's nothing, a whiff of cloud," Gimli scoffs.

"It's moving fast, against the wind," Boromir says. Just then the cloud moves close enough for me to make out what it is.

"Crebain, from Dunland," Legolas calls at the same time I shout,

"Crebain!" Immediately our camp is a flurry of motion, bags are grabbed, the fire is put out, and we all dive under shelter at Aragorn's command to hide. The birds reach us in moments, circling around our camp before flying off to the south. When they are all gone we squirm out from our hiding spots.

"Spies of Saruman," Olórin growls, "the South Passage is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Like puppets on strings we turn as one to look at the tall snow covered mountain. With no other option left to us we start walking but it still takes us the rest of the day and the entirety of the next to reach the base of the mountain where we camp for the night.

Jan 11th, 3019 T.A.

As we wade through the snow the next day I am amused by the glares that the others are directing toward our elven companion as he walks lightly alongside us, there is only one crucial difference; Legolas is walking atop the snow as though it were as solid as earth, not through it like the rest of us. The Hobbits in particular are jealous I note, the poor creatures are nearly up to their chests in snow. I discreetly pack a handful of snow into a ball but before I have the chance to throw it Legolas whips around and pins me with a knowing glare, smiling innocently I drop the snowball and continue cutting my way through the snow.

"Lomëion," Olórin calls, I look up at him, "the snow is getting deeper. If you would not mind?" I quickly make my way to the front of the group and in no time I am easily carving a path for the others to follow in.

After roughly ten minutes the Company is halted when Frodo slips on a hidden patch of ice and goes tumbling back down the mountain side.

"Are you alright, Frodo," Aragorn asks, helping Frodo back to his feet, Frodo nods, searching around his neck for the piece of disaster jewelry only to panic when he finds it missing. A flash of light brings all attention to the Ring, lying in the snow and we all tense as Boromir picks it up by the chain. I don't catch what is said next beyond Aragorn barking Boromir's name after which he soon returns the Ring to its poor Bearer and then we press on, my slender frame leaving a path that is easy for Olórin to widen with his staff, all the while grey clouds start to gather above us.

* * *

It is hours later when the first snow flake falls and I halt in my course, apprehensive about the sudden appearance of the storm.

"Lomëion?" I turn to face Olórin,

"I didn't sense this storm Mithrandir, it can't be natural; I am hesitant to go any farther, who knows how bad this storm could get," I reply, shooting a nervous glance up at the grey, snow laden clouds. But Olórin insists that we press on and so I reluctantly nod and keep carving a path through the now chest deep snow.

Jan 12th, 3019 T.A.

I wake with a throbbing head to hear Boromir shouting to be heard over the wind,

"Gandalf, this will be the death of the Hobbits, we must turn back. Take the Gap of Rohan and West Road to my city," he says. I sit up with a groan, clutching my head and suddenly the memories come rushing back,

 _"There is a fell voice in the air!"_

 _"-Saruman! Losto Caradhras-"_

 _A deep rumble, pain, bright and blinding, darkness and then oblivion._

"Lomëion, you're awake. How do you feel," Olórin asks.

" _ **Like shit, how long was I out**_ ," I reply, pushing myself to my feet, ignoring the wave of nausea as I do.

"Only for a few minutes," Olórin replies.

"Gandalf, we have to get off the mountain," Aragorn shouts.

"If we cannot go over the mountain, let us go under it. Let us go through the Mines of Moria," Gimli says, Olórin hesitates.

"Let the Ring Bearer decide," he finally says and all eyes turn to Frodo who looks at his worse for wear companions, lingering on the other Hobbits.

"We will go through the Mines." Olórin closes his eyes and nods, and with that we started back down the mountain.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

 _Thoughts and elvish_

 _ **Dracual**_

 **Direct quote from the book**

Warnings: This chapter has high gore content, reader discretion is advised. Silmarillion references.

The author's note is at the end, reading it is highly advised.

Jan 12th, 3019 T.A.

We walk for the whole day, barely stopping to eat and rest, I take the lead once more, easily cutting through the frozen snow drifts to leave a clear path for the others to follow in.

At around twilight Olórin takes the lead again for we have reached the roots of the mountain, and I walk beside the weary Istar to offer what strength I can.

"Mithrandir, let us make camp. For even now Arien goes to her slumber," I say eventually when it looks like Olórin will guide us through the night. Olórin stops and turns to look at the tired Company before simply nodding. And so we set about starting a fire and getting dinner ready.

How old are you Mr. Legolas," Pippin suddenly asks, Legolas turns from his watch to look at the young Hobbit.

"I shall never quite understand the mortal fascination with the ages of elves," he says, "however to answer your question, I am two thousand nine hundred and thirty-one years of age." Pippin's jaw drops and his eyes widen in shock and Olórin starts chuckling, drawing Pippin's attention to him.

"How old are you Gandalf," He asks.

"Maybe not quite so old as you think, I shall count only the time since I arrived in Middle-Earth. So I am two thousand and nineteen years."

"So Mr. Legolas is the oldest here?"

"Not so Master Hobbit, that honor belongs to Lomëion." I whip around to glare at the smirking Istar and curl my lips back in a snarl before releasing an irritated hiss.

"I think you mean dubious honor," I snap, my age was always a sore spot. Turning away I caught sight of Pippin's frightened face and grimace.

"Worry not, young one. I shall not harm you, even should I wish to Mithrandir would have my hide before I could even try," I say, trying to reassure the youngest of our group.

"And how old are you Lomëion," Pippin asks timidly.

"I hatched from my egg in the three hundred and ninetieth year of the First Age, little one," I say and Pippin frowns, "I am six thousand six hundred and fifty-six years of age. A fair bit older than our elven companion."

"Then dragons are immortal?"

"Not those tainted by Morgoth's touch, I am just incredibly long lived. One day I shall wither and die, just the same as all mortals, but that day is a long way off. Those who never encountered Morgoth and his hoard can return to the Valar but the rest of us are cursed to remain.

A distant howl caught my attention and I turned to face it.

" **How the wind howls** ," Frodo says from beside the fire and Aragorn jumps to his feet,

"' **How the wind howls** ' indeed! Save **it is howling with wolf-voices. The Wargs have come west of the Mountains!** "

At this statement those who had remained seated leap to their feet, hands falling to weapons for those who have them as we form a circle with our backs facing the fire.

" **Fling fuel onto the fire** ," Olórin cries as the crunch of snow under paw becomes audible to us all, Sam doesn't hesitate to follow the order and tosses an armful onto the dwindling flame. For a tense moment the fire wavers before the dry wood catches and flares high, the new light glints off of eyes all around us and growls start to fill the air as a large wolf shaped form steps from the shadows of the undergrowth. A deep growl rumbles low in my throat and my lips curl back to bare my razor sharp teeth.

" **Listen, Hound of Sauron, Gandalf is here. Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring!** " Olórin cries but the warg seems to ignore him, lunging forward with a howl only to fall to the ground as with a _thwap_ Legolas' arrow finds its mark in the warg's throat. But the howl seemed to be a signal to the others and they too come bounding from the trees and undergrowth with howls and snarls. My sword leaves its sheath at my side and slices into the lunging throat of a large female, possibly the alpha female.

The battle is over quickly and soon we are cleaning our blades and checking for injuries, it is as I turn to face the fire that it happens, a warg must have been hiding in the underbrush for as soon as I turn my back it is on me with no chance of warning. My sword is launched from my grip as I twist from the warg's hold and wrestle with it, both of us vying for a grip on the other; it ends violently with my teeth sinking into the warg's throat and blood splattering over my face. I hold my jaw clenched tight until the warg stops struggling and even still hold it until I am sure it is good and dead.

I pull back, face a mess of blood and rank fur, back a flame in pain, I am sure that my tunic and shirt are just as shredded as my back for I had taken my vest off to be more comfortable, a foolish mistake I now see. It's quiet I realize, looking up for the first time to see the others; their faces are awash with horror and fright, even Olórin looks slightly scared. I try to give them a reassuring smile but I'm sure that it comes out as a grimace, it is then that Olórin moves, sweeping forward and hauling me to shaky feet and guiding me closer to the fire, too close I protest only to be shushed. I am quickly stripped out of my ruined tunic and undershirt and pressed down on my bedroll, face down. Aragorn soon approaches with a couple water skins and his pack which I'm sure contains healing herbs, meanwhile Olórin wanders off to speak with the others.

"No valerian, it is a poison to my kind, use athelas instead," I say, Aragorn nods and sets to work, pulling a needle and thread from his pack, he quickly sterilizes the needle in the fire and threads it before setting it aside briefly to wash the blood from the wounds, at this point I stop paying attention as the pain turns into a raging bonfire. It seems like hours but it likely only minutes before Aragorn is done, my back neatly stitched, washed, and herbs applied to help prevent infection from the warg's dirty claws and teeth.

"Can you sit up so we can wrap these and treat your front?" I nod and gingerly push myself up onto my knees where Aragorn can bandage my torso after dealing with the gashes on my chest and shoulders.

Swathed in clean white bandages what seems like hours later I stand and grabbing my waterskin make my way to the edge of camp where I wash my face and neck clean of blood and fur before practically sanding my mouth clean, rinsing and spiting until I run out of water. As clean as I am likely to get I set about finding my sword, finally finding embedded in a pine about ten feet from our camp I apologize to the tree and carefully extract my blade from its wide trunk.

When I make my way back to camp I can tell that all but Olórin and Aragorn are wary of me. I quickly pull an extra shirt and tunic from my pack and pull them on with no little pain.

"I apologize if I have frightened you," I say, "but I shall not apologize for the behavior, despite current appearances I am still a dragon and the only blade on my person at the time was thrown from my grasp. If it makes you feel any better, I shall be confined to this form until my wounds heal."

Silence reigns for a time with only the fire to break the stillness.

"It was foolish to forget what you are, at times you seem so young and carefree that it is easy to forget that you are in reality a formidable predator," Legolas finally says, looking up from the ground to meet my gaze, "I do not think that we will forget so easily again."

I merely give a slow blink and turn to Olórin,

"I will take the first watch, will you join me? I think after this a double watch is best." Olórin nods,

"Yes, a double watch would be best."

* * *

Jan 13th, 3019 T.A.

A gentle hand on my shoulder wakes me the next morning and I give a sleepy mumble.

" _ **What is it**_?" A chuckle pulls me further awake and I crack an eye open, glaring at the offender who happens to be Aragorn.

"Up you get," he says cheerfully, I scowl at him, _morning people!_ Nonetheless I pull myself carefully from my bedroll, wincing at the pull of stitches.

"Is this what being old looks like," Aragorn snickers as I hobble to my feet.

"You would know, Dunadan," I jab, "but if I am so old and decrepit, then maybe you can take care of my blankets for me."

After a sigh Aragorn does actually roll up my blankets for me while I disappear into the trees to refill my waterskin and empty my bladder. When I return breakfast is ready and after receiving a chiding glare from Aragorn I grab a plate from a nervous Sam and settle down to eat only to freeze.

"Where are the bodies?" The others look up at my question and look around to see that the warg's bodies had indeed vanished in the night. After that breakfast is eaten quickly and we pack up camp. After a brief argument with Aragorn my pack is strapped to Bill's back, who remarkably made it through the night unscathed.

* * *

We arrive at Moria an hour after sunset with clouds blocking out Tilion's light.

"Frodo, come and help an old man," Olórin calls and when Frodo reaches his side they speak quietly for a moment until Gimli reaches them.

"The Walls of Moria," he says, pointing across the large pond to the cliff wall that towers high above us.

The journey around to the other side is swift and soon we are walking along the Wall.

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli comments, tapping his ax against the rocks.

"Yes, Gimli, even their own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten," Olórin calls back even as Frodo's foot slips and dips into the water for a moment.

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Legolas murmurs and Gimli grumbles, I am sure he would have said something but at that moment Olórin stops at a section of the wall and rubs some dirt away.

"Ah, ithildin! It mirrors only starlight and moonlight," he says and at that moment the clouds drifted away leaving the ithildin to shine brightly. _Not very well hidden if you ask me_ , I think even as I silently read the letters written on the stone, _Ennyn Durin Aran Moria; pedo mellon a minno. Im Narvi hain echant: Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thiw hin_.

"The Doors of Durin Lord of Moria; speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs," Olórin reads aloud for the benefit of the others.

"What do you suppose that means," Pippin asks.

"Oh, it's quite simple, if you are a friend you speak the password and the doors will open." My lips twitch at the subtle insult.

The first phrase that Olórin tries doesn't work, nor do the second or third attempts, after which Olórin tosses his staff down and sits in frustration. The Hobbits had long grown bored, Aragorn having stopped Merry and Pippin from throwing rocks in the water after helping Sam release Bill.

"It's a riddle," Frodo cries suddenly, leaping to his feet, "speak 'friend' and enter. What's the elvish word for friend?"

" _Mellon_ ," Olórin says slowly and with the sound of stone grinding on stone the doors slowly swing open, releasing a wave of the stench of decay and rotting flesh.

Now perhaps if I had been in my right mind I would have noticed that something was wrong and protested entering the Mine, but as it was my mind had felt fuzzy ever since the avalanche on Caradhras and so I remained silent even as the others discovered that the Mines of Moria were now the Tombs of Moria. I was also slow in reacting when the Watcher grabbed Frodo around the ankle. The fight is a blur like most are and soon we are locked in the Mines by a giant pile of rocks with no way out but the other side.

AN: Ok, so I stand corrected. _This_ is the longest chapter so far at 2,149 words. Now I'm sure I grossed a lot of you out but this _is_ rated T for language and gore; and as I mentioned in the chapter, Lomëion is a dragon, he's not going to have the same thought process as a human does and he's going to care a lot less about biting, growling, and hissing; for him these things are natural. As for him being wounded, that is an unfortunately necessary plot device and a way to show that the journey is dangerous even for a dragon, the best way I know to show that Lomëion isn't invincible is to rough him up a bit. I'm sorry if the chapter made anyone uncomfortable but I stand by my point, Lomëion isn't human and he isn't going to have the same reactions as a human in the same situation would.

Sorry that was so long, I hope that you enjoyed the chapter and that I didn't freak you out too badly. Feel free to leave a review because they really do help in writing the next chapter but until then, bye!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then it's not mine.

Warnings: Disturbing imagery and gore.

Author's note at the end.

Chapter 9

"We now have but one choice; we must face the long dark of Moria. Quietly now, it is a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope our presence will go unseen," Olórin says, lighting his staff.

And so we walk, we walk until the Hobbits can go no farther and even then our rest is short, but in that time Aragorn returns my pack which I simply hold in one hand by its straps as we carry on through the dark that is now Moria.

I can feel that we are now being followed, can smell the creature's putrid breath and hear bare feet and hands whispering across stone, a look from Olórin keeps me from hunting down and killing the wretch however and we continue to walk in silence.

That silence is broken during one of our rests though,

"Your breath doesn't show in the cold," Frodo remarks, "I noticed it on the mountain." I turn from my staring contest with the gloom of the Mines to meet the Hobbit's gaze. Silently I hold out a hand and wait, Frodo soon takes the hint and timidly grasps my hand only to drop it with a gasp.

"You're freezing," he exclaims softly

"I suppose to you I would be, but to me it seems that the world around me is on fire and you are all burning with fever."

Jan 15th, 3019 T.A.

"I have no memory of this place," Olórin says. The Hobbits immediately seize the chance to have a break, sitting down wherever they can and taking off their packs.

"Come Lomëion, let me check those wounds while we have the chance," Aragorn says. I grimace but nod, taking a seat on a convenient rock and dropping my pack before doffing my shirt and tunic, revealing the now stained bandages beneath. With the practiced ease of a long seasoned healer Aragorn swiftly unwinds the bandages from around my torso, baring the tender flesh to the stale air, making them sting.

"Well, what's the verdict? Will I live?" Aragorn's lips twitch.

"They appear to be healing well, no signs of infection. If you behave I might even be able to remove the sutures in about a week or two," he replies, I feign hurt.

"I am always behaved, if anything it was you who was brought up by wolves." All I receive in reply is a dubious look as Aragorn riffles through his pack for clean bandages and once he has them I am quickly slathered in healing herbs and wrapped up tightly. I pull my shirt and tunic back on as Aragorn packs his things away.

"Ah, it's that way," Olórin exclaims of a sudden pointing down the passage we need to take.

"He's remembered," Merry exclaims.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose," Olórin replies, already starting down the dark tunnel and leaving us little choice but to follow.

As we passed along a narrow strip with a steep drop a metallic scent and a bright shine caught my eye, I turn to look at the rough wall and see delicate little rivulets of what looks like silver.

"Yes, I see you have noticed that the wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels, but mithril," Olórin says, extending his lit staff over the chasm to display the glittering, silvery depths below, "Bilbo had a set of mithril rings gifted to him by Thorin"

"Oh, that was a kingly gift," Gimli gasps.

"Indeed, I never told him but its worth was greater than even that of the Shire."

"You two-leggers and your obsession with shiny metals, I do not believe I shall ever understand," I sniff. The others halt in their tracks.

"You do not covet gold," Gimli asks dubiously.

"Why should I when my scales shine brighter than any treasure you shall ever fashion or any metal you will ever unearth."

"I had no idea you were this vain, Lomëion," Aragorn snickers and I glower at him.

"And why should I not be," I demand, but alas I received no answer for at that moment Olórin insisted we carry on quietly and for a number of hours we walked in silence until we walked through a doorway into a larger room.

"Let me risk a little more light," Olórin says and suddenly the room was revealed to us in all its splendor, towering pillars carved to beautiful perfection held the mountain high above our heads, "Behold, the great realm and Dwarf city of Darrowdelf."

"There's an eye-opener, ain't no mistake," Sam murmurs in awe.

We walk slowly through the giant hall, admiring the masterfully hewn pillars and archways. Another source of light appears from a doorway and with a cry Gimli bolts toward it, ignoring Olórin's call for him to wait. And so we follow after him and find him kneeling before a marble tomb, sobbing out 'no's, and it is to everyone's surprise that Legolas approaches to rest a comforting hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. Olórin steps up to the tomb, handing his hat and staff off to young Pippin as he did.

"It reads 'Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria' he is dead then, it is as I feared."

Then with his head tilted in curiosity Olórin pulled a book from the grasp of a dead dwarf that lay slumped against the grave and cracked it open, ignoring the pages that fell from the binding as he did so. And then he began to read,

"They have taken the Bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long, the ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out, a shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out, they are coming."

There's a moment of silence before a loud crash from behind Olórin has us reaching for our weapons and spinning toward the source of the sound, Pippin. The young Hobbit had grown bored and curious enough to explore and knocked a skeleton down the well in the corner of the room.

"Fool of a Took," Olórin snaps, whirling around and snatching his stuff back as he speaks, "Throw yourself in next time and rid of your stupidity!"

Acting on instinct I move forward and curl an arm around the youngest of the company and hiss at the Istar in warning, the Maia looks about to speak when we hear it.

 _Doomb, doomb, doomb_. Horror sweeps over us, drums, and then the screeches of orcs.

"Orcs," Legolas calls from the doorway, Boromir and Aragorn quickly join him and they pull the doors shut, Boromir jerking back to avoid being shot.

"They have a cave troll," Boromir informs us, nodding his head towards the doors.

Together Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas bar the door with the weapons scattered about the small chamber before falling back into position, ready to fight, though Aragorn spares a few precious moments to command the Hobbits.

"Stay close to Gandalf!" And then the hoards are upon us, banging against the door in an effort the break down the decaying wood. Louder screeching erupts as Legolas looses an arrow, hitting an orc through a gap in the doors; Aragorn quickly follows his example as Gimli clambers atop the tomb with a snarl,

"Let them come, there is still one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath," he declares.

But the doors will not hold forever and eventually they shatter inward, small pieces flying everywhere and then the orcs were upon us.

Energy courses through me, information flashing through my mind at a phenomenal rate as I struggle to keep an eye on my companions and still be able to cut down my enemy. The troll is soon among us, making staying together and in one piece next to impossible. And of course as is the way of life, if something can go wrong it will. I have no time to prevent it, indeed I did not see it until it was too late and the troll had impaled Frodo upon a spear the length of a new born whale. My ears ring and I swiftly cut through all the orcs around me, blood spraying as they drop to the ground like puppets with their strings cut even as I lurch forward toward the cause of the Company's horror, the troll. My lips curl back to reveal my teeth in an instinctive threat display as I confront the blundering, half way to brain dead troll. Quite by accident I meet the troll's gaze but I immediately take advantage of the opportunity, diving into the age old process of freezing my prey in place with just a look, I know my pupils narrow to slits as I wrap my spell around the troll, inducing mind numbing fear. And then it's over, the troll reeling backwards, clumsily feeling the arrow in the roof of its mouth before collapsing to the ground, dead.

Silence falls, only broken when Aragorn scrambles over to Frodo, rolling the pale body over. We are all shocked and relieved to hear a groan and then Frodo speaks.

"I'm alright, I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead, that spear would have skewered a wild boar," Aragorn exclaims.

"I think there's more to this Hobbit than meets the eye," Olórin says and Frodo slowly draws his shirt aside to reveal a shining coat of mithril rings.

"Mithril," Gimli breathes in awe. But we are given no time to rest as the drums start to beat once more and the shrieks of orcs sound in greater quantity than before.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm," Olórin says, "Run!"

AN: Alright, I'm sure by now that most if not all of you have noticed that some events are changed or out of place entirely, this is mostly because of flow; I'm trying to keep the story going in a unique and interesting manner while at the same time keep keystone events. Or at least as unique as fanfiction gets. The other reason that some events are out of order is because I can't be bothered to check the movie version for a play by play account; it's just not going to happen. As for Lomëion's behavior and actions, I have said it before and I'm not going to say it again; Lomëion. Is. Not. Human, he has different instincts and is going to react differently than you or I would in the same situation. To put it another way, his brain is hardwired differently.

Sorry for the long note but it needed to be said. So with that out of the way, I'm sorry to cut it short but I'm procrastinating writing the death of Gandalf. I hope you liked the chapter and stick around to read the next one, feel free to leave a review if you want and until the next chapter, bye!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, and even sometimes if you don't, I don't own it.

Warnings: Character death (well kinda). Possibly OOC characters.

 _Elvish/thoughts/emphasis_

 **Black Speech**

Chapter 10

We run but it isn't long before we're surrounded, with nowhere to go we stand back to back prepared to go down fighting until a tremor shook the ground, so slight it's very likely only I notice it. Then a growl echoes through the hall, the effect is immediate, the orcs all chitter excitedly and scurry off as an acidic scent and fiery glow fill the hall, both very familiar and I find that I can't help it, I whimper.

"What is this new devilry," Boromir demands, worried about what could terrify a _dragon_.

"A Balrog; a demon of the ancient world," Olórin says slowly, "This foe is far beyond any of you. Run!"

Terror fuels my steps and I dash ahead of the others, desperately trying to race ahead of the spirit of fire and not lose my companions. I leap across a gap in the stairs without hesitation but skid to a halt when my friends do hesitate; Legolas is the first to jump across, landing lightly with elvish grace.

"Gandalf," the prince beckons and Olórin leaps across, Legolas steadying him and then Boromir when he too braves the gap. Merry, Pippin, and Sam are next, Boromir catching them as Legolas returns the orc archers' fire. Then it's Gimli's turn and we are slowed when he declines Aragorn's aid.

"No one tosses a Dwarf." He cites and jumps across, for one heart stopping moment it seems like he will fall back into the abyss below before Legolas' hand snaps out and latches onto the Dwarf's beard.

"Not the beard," Gimli cries out in pain even as he is hauled to safety.

As Aragorn readies to toss Frodo across the gap it widens as more stone falls away from the stairs and abruptly they are stood on a swaying island. For a tense moment we watch in horror before Aragorn tells Frodo to lean forward, sending the remains of the staircase crashing into our platform but then they are with us and the great Dwarf carved stairs are falling into the depths as we continue to run toward the Bridge.

The ground shakes with every step the fallen Maia takes and I am sure that the others can feel it now as we dash across the narrow bridge, stumbling to a halt when Olórin stops on the Bridge and turns to face the Valarauko.

"Durin's Bane," Gimli gasps even as Olórin speaks,

"You cannot not pass," he says, ignoring Frodo's call, "I am a servant of the Secret

Fire, wielder of the Flame of Arnor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn."

The only answer he gets is a sudden flare of flames.

"Go back to the shadow," Olórin hisses, "You shall not pass!"

The Valarauko steps forward only to have its feet frozen in ice that quickly melts into steam; unfortunately it draws its attention to me where I stand with the others and it speaks.

" **Akulpushatig, you betray your master**."

"I left that life long ago, I have no master," I growl, stepping forward only to be pulled back by Aragorn. The Valarauko roars in rage and makes to take a step forward, snapping its whip, only to be stopped by Olórin,

"You. Shall. Not. Pass," he shouts, bringing his staff down hard on the rock of the Bridge, the Valarauko steps forward anyway but with a loud crack the Bridge gives way under the immense weight and the demon falls with it. Olórin soon gives a sigh of relief and turns to face us, but the Valarauko wasn't done with us yet and we watch in horror as the great fiery whip wraps around the Istar's ankle, pulling him to dangle from the broken edge of the once great Bridge. We stand frozen as our leader tries to pull himself up only to fail,

"Fly, you fools," he gasps before letting go and falling into the seemingly endless abyss that is Khazad-Dûm.

"No," Frodo screams, attempting to run forward only to be held back by Boromir and dragged toward the exit, the rest of us reluctantly follow as the orcs reappear and begin to loose their arrows at us again.

The sun is so bright after the dark of Moria that it makes my eyes sting with more than just grief, I just barely hold them back as of a sudden the reality of my mate's death hits me as well, were it not for my sutures I would surely take my true form and take to the skies as well but for the time being I am earthbound.

"Legolas, get them up," Aragorn orders and after a moment Legolas goes to Merry and Pippin and helps them to their feet.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake," Boromir says, sounding on the verge of tears.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs, we must reach the woods of Lothlórien, come Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up," Aragorn says before going to Sam and pulling him up, "On your feet Sam."

Once more we are running, the Hobbit's are so exhausted that every now and then one of us taller folk will have to carry one of them for awhile. Finally, when we are all at the limits of our endurance, the woods of Lórien come into view and soon we are under their eves and on the bank of the Nimrodel, which Legolas stepped into without hesitation after removing his light shoes, indeed he seemed almost eager as he stepped into the shallow water. The others quickly followed his example, however I merely leapt to the opposite bank, knowing that after the use of my power my touch would simply freeze the water into a solid sheet of ice and the elves would not be happy with me then.

* * *

We make our way farther into the woods and it is decided that will make camp here tonight, so we quickly start setting up, Olórin's absence keenly felt when we are finally stopped.

"Lomëion," Pippin calls from beside the fire, I turn from watching the leaves sway on their branches to face him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, "What did you do to the Balrog and what did it say to you?" I pause for a moment to think how to word my answer and in that moment I became aware that the others were listening too.

"Fire drakes have their fire, yes," Pippin nods, "well frost drakes have the cold to work with, if there is water in the air we can cause it to freeze but it has the adverse effect of lowering our body temperature so much that for awhile after any water we touch freezes on contact."

"So that's why you jumped the stream instead walking through it," Aragorn remarks and I nod.

"But what did the Balrog say to you, you didn't look very happy whatever it was," Pippin persists and I wince.

"I was rather hoping you would forget about that," I say before continuing, "it was nothing really, the Valarauko was under the impression that I was betraying a nonexistent master."

Seeing my reluctance to further discuss it Aragorn quickly changes the topic to something safer and I turn back to watching the trees.

"I did not know that dragons could cry," Legolas says softly from beside me, automatically I reach a hand up to feel my face and find it wet with icy tears.

"Only in this form," I reply.

"Mithrandir's death weighs heavily on you."

"It's more than that; with Mithrandir's passing it seems that the reality of my mate's death has finally hit me. Unfortunately it's happening all at once." Before Legolas can reply I turn and head toward my bedroll but I don't get the chance to slip into it before Aragorn is approaching me and demanding I remove my shirt and tunic so he can check my wounds. Rather reluctantly I do as I'm bid and soon I am being poked and prodded within an inch of my patience, but it is soon over and I am informed that I have the last watch, not long after that I am sound asleep.

Jan 16th, 3019 T.A.

Just as the last time I had the last watch I am woken four hours before dawn save this time it is by Aragorn. I rouse with little protest and shake myself from my blankets which I swiftly roll up and pack away.

There is a certain peace that comes with the last watch, by this point in time the fire has burned down to mere smoldering embers and it is quiet save for the breaths the others take in their slumber and Gimli's snores. I cast my gaze over them now, the Hobbits are all huddled together by the remains of our fire, Boromir on the other side from them, Gimli and Legolas are on opposite sides of the camp, and Aragorn has just slid into his blankets beside Legolas who has his eyes open in elvish sleep. I turn back to face the night and quietly walk the perimeter of the camp, looking for anything that might cause harm.

Fortunately my watch passes uneventfully and soon the sun is starting to peak over the horizon, I wake Legolas first as he is the easiest to wake, I merely wave a hand in front of his face a few times and he blinks his eyes clear. Aragorn is next while Legolas wakes Boromir, Aragorn jerks awake, hand reaching for a knife before I am recognized. As always Gimli and the Hobbits come awake with no small amount of complaints but soon everyone is up, things packed away. Breakfast is fast and cold and we are quickly on our way, heading deeper into the trees.

* * *

 _New scents have joined us_ , I idly observe; they are similar to Legolas' but at the same time different and it isn't long before they join us, cutting off Gimli's claims of superior senses.

"The Dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," a familiar voice drawls before its owner appears, stepping from the ranks of his archers, all of whom have their bows notched and drawn, deadly projectiles aimed at us.

"Haldir," I greet simply, drawing the elf's gaze to me.

"Lomëion," he replies, nodding his head before turning his attention to the rest of the Company, " _Legolas Thranduilion, you are welcome here. Ah, Aragorn of the Dunadain, you are known to us._ "

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves," Gimli grumbles, "speak words we can all understand."

"We have not had _dealings_ with the Dwarves since the Dark Days," Haldir sneers, incensing Gimli.

"And you know what this Dwarf says to that," he asks, but before he can continue I clamp a hand tightly on his shoulder and growl in warning, wisely, he closes his mouth. Aragorn takes a breath to speak but before he can form any words Haldir's gaze falls on Frodo and his eyes widen.

"You bring great evil here. You may go no further," he snaps.

Akulpushatig – Icespitter (roughly)

Valarauko - Balrog

AN: Alright, so Gandalf's dead, Lomëion finally realized his mate is dead, we got to learn more about Lomëion and his powers, and the Fellowship has reached Lothlórien. I'm also very sad that I had to kill one of my favorite characters. But wait there's more! This is also the chapter where we get to see the bit more emotional side of Lomëion, even if it is pretty short, in my mind dragons don't really feel emotions the same way we do and I tried to show this in the chapter, but I don't know how well I succeeded.

Any who, if you see any missing words, spelling errors, or grammar mistakes please let me know, I don't have a beta reader and there's only so much I can catch. But I hope you liked it and until next time, review if you want and if you want to know when I've updated maybe consider following because I don't have an update schedule.


End file.
